


Taking Liberties

by blusher91



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 22:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blusher91/pseuds/blusher91
Summary: Francis barges into James's quarters and apparently won't take no for an answer.





	Taking Liberties

**Author's Note:**

> I was taken with the idea of James having this intense fantasy about being ravished. And so this over the top ridiculousness happened. I wrote a prequel to this called Swoon, which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17404808).

It was well into the evening when a burst of knocking interrupted James’s thoughts. He looked up at the door, shaking himself out of his reverie concerning ice, food stocks and… creatures that crept in the dark.

“Come in.”

And they did come in. Or stormed in, James thought would be more accurate. The door opened with such force that it bounced off the wall. And in strode Francis, his coat off and his cheeks flushed from the cold outside or perhaps from running. He slammed the door behind him with quite an unnecessary amount of force.

James couldn’t say why but his hands curled into fists at the sight of him. The manner in which the _Terror_ captain’s chest was rising and falling like that, like some agitated animal. And the strange look that had come into his eye. It heralded… something.

“You.”

James’s eyes widened as the man took three purposeful steps towards him. James realised in belated confusion that Francis was holding a bottle of something that looked like oil. He couldn’t tell if it was cooking oil or hair oil given they all looked the same to him. He who wouldn’t let any such slop near his boots, let alone his hair.

His garbled thoughts were silenced when Francis slammed the oil down on the table and grasped James by both arms like a man possessed. James jerked back against the table, too stunned and bewildered to protest.

Francis put his face close to his. He could smell his cologne, but no spirits. Which was… unexpected. The Irishman’s hot, het-up breath caressed him from his chin to his ear. He felt goosebumps erupt up his arms.

“You’ve interfered in the running of my vessel long enough.” Francis’s eyes flashed like a stallion in rut. “I won’t have it, Fitzjames. You may have flirted and _fucked_ your way through the Admiralty—”

“How dare you—” James’s outraged interruption was silenced by a broad, warm hand clasping over his mouth. His eyes widened in shock. The man had gone mad.

“Oh, _I dare_ , Fitzjames.” Francis’s tone was dangerously low. A growl. A threat. James shallowed behind Francis’s hand. “I’ll not be tiptoeing about your high-minded sensibilities any longer.”

James tore his face away from Francis’s grasp. The indignance he should have felt at such outrageous accusations was tempered by an uneasy fear that Francis had not just come here to insult him.

“Let go of me this instant,” James spat. “Unhand me.”

The look in Francis’s eyes shifted. So quickly and sharply that James flinched back. A smirk crept onto his mouth, leering and spiteful. James tried to tear himself out of the man’s grip, but _God have mercy._ The man was too strong. He was broader than James, more muscular of figure, more used to employing brute strength. James was at a disadvantage and he knew it.

Francis moved forward to press his mouth against James’s ear. “Squirm all you want, love. Your pretty face and fine clothes won’t be much use to you here.” He chuckled and leant back to look at him. “Well, perhaps your pretty face will.”

James spluttered and yanked himself from Francis’s clutches with all his might. He made a mad break for the door of his quarters, but Francis seemed to know his mind. Using his full, frightening strength, he grasped James about his waist and forced him, _hoisted him_ , like a caught pickpocket into his own cabin, plucking up the bottle of oil as he did. James was bundled through the door of his room and listened with horror as the door shut with a snap behind him. And he heard the key turn in the lock. His heart beat faster.

He twisted himself around to look at Francis’s face. Francis’s eyes were burning like coals. He had never seen him like this. Except perhaps during their most fierce of arguments. But even then, he had not been in fear of him.

Francis brought a hand up to James’s jaw and stroked his thumb across James’s mouth. James shivered at the sensation. He was not used to being touched like this. His insides roiled at the invasion. “Are you going to be a good boy?”

“Let me out of here immediately,” James said in a soft, livid tone. “You are out of line, Crozier.”

“ _Crozier_ now _,_ is it?” Francis gave a low chuckle that sent a hard jolt of electricity up James’s spine. “Don’t be cross, sweet thing. We all need to learn our place.” His voice pitched lower into a pitch-black growl. James’s knees buckled. “And you’ll love it when I teach you yours. Even if you don’t want to.”

James gasped shakily in surprised as he was shunted into the wall behind him. Francis’s calloused hands began touching and running over his clothes. James leant his head back against the wall, panting. Flushing. Feeling like he had fallen into some crazed nightmare. Or dream. No _nightmare_. He wasn’t enjoying this, welcoming it. He didn’t want Francis’s strong hands on him, rubbing him over, touching him whether he wanted it or not.

“Why… why are you doing—” James’s throat felt like it had closed up. He panted and gasped. Francis’s thumbs edged over his nipples and he felt them prick up alert.

Francis moved his hands down to unbutton James’s trousers, fingers working with a sailor’s quickness. “Because, sweet boy, you are in need of a thorough, proper _ravishing_.”

James’s body arched up, his hips bucking against Francis’s hands. “No… No, please. I don’t want—”

Francis chuckled low and dipped a hand inside James’s unbuttoned trousers. “Such naughty lies you tell.” Francis’s hand fondled for his prick and he leered at what he found. “Cock getting awfully excited for someone who doesn’t want it.”

James knew he was het-up. He didn’t need Francis to point it out to him. All the rubbing and jostling and being thrown about was bound to have that effect.

“Oh, God.” He gave an anguished groan as he realised even in his own head that his excuses were toothless.

“No, sweetness. Just us.” Francis stroked a hand almost soothingly through James’s hair. “Tell me what you’ve been hankering for. Tell me what you’ve been turning over in that head of yours while you toss and turn at night. Rutting against the bed. Tears in your eyes because you can’t get just what it is you _need_.”

He squeezed James’s half-hard prick again and James whimpered. He could no longer keep it in. Small mercies that they were cocooned in his quarters. Alone but for God looking down on his shame and sin.

Francis dropped his hand to James’s neck and nuzzled his mouth into it. James tilted his head back against the wall, feeling like he was caught in an unrelenting trap. He couldn’t shift the _Terror_ captain’s bulk off of him even if he had put all of his flagging strength into it.

“The proud, handsome Captain Fitzjames,” Francis growled into his ear while he struggled fruitlessly against him. “Pride of the English navy. They think he wants to be a rear admiral, but all he really wants, the sweet, dirty thing, is to have a fat, stiff cock inside as deep as it will go. Wants to be ravished until he can’t remember his prayers. Just the name of the one who gives it to him the way he needs.” He grasped James’s chin between his fingers and forced him to look him dead in the eye. “ _Crozier_.”

Francis pinned his mouth against James’s, not allowing him to move or flinch away. He kissed James like it was his God-given right. Forcing James’s lips open, plundering his mouth like he was forcing open a lock. James moaned wretchedly against him and grasped at his shoulders, trying to find purchase so he wouldn’t collapse completely. He felt he might swoon. He wavered against the wall.

Francis must have felt him wobbling against him for he broke the brutal ravishment of his mouth and leant back to look at his face. James felt like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

“Now none of that, sweetheart. Can’t have you bruising your pretty self if you pass out cold.” Francis’s tone was almost tender. James grasped unsteadily onto him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Before James could protest, he had been swept up like a bride and taken across to his berth. Francis placed him down with the sort of care he usually reserved for a bottle of brandy.

“Francis…” James croaked.

Francis hushed him. “Let me take care of you.” He pulled off James’s boots one by one and placed them next to the bed. “Can’t be leaving them in a heap like you’re some ill-bred cabin boy, can we?”

Francis’s tone was soothing. Like he was comforting a frightened animal. James so rarely heard him use that voice. He sunk down into the bed, his breaths lengthening out. He didn’t even try to protest as Francis devested him of his breeches. He just gave a soft whimper at the sensation of the fabric passing over his aching prick.

Francis folded his breeches and dropped them beside him. He eyed James’s erect manhood with a smirk. His eyes were filled with sharp and lustful satisfaction. To be the object of such a full-blooded, unyielding, _powerful_ man’s full, masculine desire was too much. James arched his hips, jutting his hardened prick up as a surge of precise and unbound want coursed through him. _Francis was such a man._

Francis stood up to remove his own clothes, his eyes never leaving James for a moment as he unbuttoned and undressed himself. “Need a real man to give it to how you need, don’t you? No wilting dandy would do it for you. You need a real, fucking man with a cock that can reach right to where you need it.”

James cried out and pressed a hand to his mouth. _Christ. He couldn’t. The things Francis was saying. He might—_

Francis hastened to his side and climbed onto the bed next to him. He was nude now. James struggled to sit up so he could look at his body. Ropey muscle, a stomach softening a little in places, white blond bristles leading down from his naval to a proud, thick cock that James almost could have spent just to look at.

Francis took James’s hand and placed it on his prick. “I know, lover. Patience now. I’m going to take care of you. Make you feel so good you’ll not be able to come off in future without my prick breaking you open.”

He moved to scoop up the oil he had brought with him. James watched, bleary and aching as Francis smeared some on his fingers and then up and down his length. “Francis, please…” he whimpered.

Francis poured more oil on his fingers and turned his attention to James’s lower half. “Hush now, love.” His oil-slick hands wrenched apart James’s legs, exposing his core like a bullseye. He faltered backwards onto his pillow. “We have to make sure that lovely rosebud of yours is ready for me.”

James felt fingers, thick and wet, nudge at his flexing, excited hole. Humming softly, Francis fondled his way inside, pushing and stretching like he was tending to some chore on ship and not breaking open his fellow captain while he could do nothing but squirm.

“You take it so sweetly, Captain.” Francis worked himself in up to the knuckle. James clawed at the blankets, his hips jerking up to meet some phantom lover above.

 _Francis’s fingers_. He needed them in him indefinitely. He needed _something_ in him indefinitely. Needed to be bound to this bed and fucked on Francis’s girthy cock every day and every night until he couldn’t remember his own name. Couldn’t remember why they were on this ship or sailing into the north. His whole world would be Francis’s cock.

“I can see you monologuing in your head, James,” Francis grunted, wiggling his fingers around in James’s hole. “Tell me what you’re thinking. I’d have you say it out loud.”

“No,” James rasped. “Please, Francis. Let me keep some pride.”

Francis chuckled and curled his fingers up in a way that—

“ _Oh my God.”_ James’s body seized up as he sobbed. “Francis!”

“Lovely thing. You are such a treat laid out like this for me.” Francis met his eye. “Can you imagine what the Admiralty would think? Upstanding captain fit to bursting because of an Irishman’s fingers right up inside his boy cunt.”

James gave a choked sound that was positively animalistic. He jerked his head up. “You’re a monster. You’re using my body against me. You’re—”

Francis twisted his fingers again and James sobbed until he choked on it. “When I’ve had my fill of you, I should seal you with something. Make sure my seed stays deep inside of you. Make you feel it when you’re going about your duties tomorrow. Would you like that?” He crooked his fingers with cruel precision.

“Yes!” James howled, arching up. “Yes! I want it in me! I want your seed dripping out of me! _I can’t take it, Francis_.”

“Alright, lover. It’s alright,” Francis murmured. He pulled his fingers out and quickly wiped them on the blankets.

Tense in every muscle and burning like he was aflame, James barely registered Francis guiding his cock to his hole. He jolted into the present when he felt the blunt tip press against him and curled his fingers into the covers. He lifted his head to look Francis in the eye.

Francis pulled one of his legs up and over his shoulder and drove into him. James’s whole body spasmed. The insistent push was tight and sublime. He wrapped his free leg around Francis’s broad thigh, trying to bring him in closer. He didn’t even know if it was possible.

Underneath them, his bed gave a squeal like it was in danger of collapsing. James gazed up into Francis’s face. He was flushed with pleasure and exertion and _a deep, fierce, carnal joy._ He was like a wild thing. Like the thing that hunted them. Fucking James open like he was his property, fucking him open like he wanted James to feel it for days, feel it for weeks. Would be able to see the limp in his step and know James was his. _Was his._

“ _Yes._ Oh, Francis. Oh Jesus. _Oh God._ Please!” James grabbed desperately for something, _anything_ to hold onto. His hand came into contact with Francis’s and it entwined with his, fingers threading through fingers.

“Such a good boy,” Francis panted. The sound of his skin slapping James’s was obscene, depraved and lovely. “You are such a good boy. Sweet, darling, _perfect_ boy.”

James made a sound he knew sounded utterly animal. He twisted on the bed, unable to do anything but let Francis fuck into his sweet spot over and over like some sublime and dreadful torture. “Francis!” he sobbed. “I can’t!”

“You’re doing so well, my sweet.” Francis sounded wrecked too. His voice was splintering like old wood.

He untangled his hand from James’s and wrapped it around his cock. His fingers ran over the pre-ejaculate oozing and weeping at the crown and then clutched and frigged it with aggressive purpose.

The pressure was overwhelming. And too much.

“ _Francis_.” James bucked his hips and he spent. He came in forceful ribbons over Francis’s hand and his own stomach.

It kept coming. And coming. Oh God, he _couldn’t stop spending_. Was this his life now? Coming until he was just dry, crumbling bones? His mind felt like it had finally cracked.

“ _Fuck_!” Francis’s body shuddered against him and his hand squeezed his cock almost painfully. James felt every muscle on the man go tense. His seed burst and rushed inside of James, hot and utterly copious. James groaned at the sensation and put his head back into the pillows.

He felt like he was being swallowed. Felt like he was fainting. Drifting away. The blackness was comforting though. He leaned into it and it took him without complaint.

 

_“I've been a wild rover for many's the year. And I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer.”_

James opened his eyes. The ceiling swam into view above him. The first thing he became aware of was that he couldn’t feel much. He came to the conclusion that he must not have a body any longer. He was quite certain he was just a head now.

_“But now I'm returning with gold in great store. And I never will play the wild rover no more.”_

He groaned from deep inside his belly as sensation ebbed back through his chest and limbs. He did have a body. And he wasn’t dead. Surely no merciful God would inflict Francis’s singing on him in the afterlife.

He tilted his head upright as door of his room opened. Francis appeared in just his shirt holding a basin of water and a sponge.

“Francis…” James tried thickly. Talking was… hard.

Francis knelt beside him and brushed back the hair that had stuck to his forehead. “Hush now. There’s a good lad.” He laid the basin down and submerged the sponge into it. “Lost you for a minute there.”

“Was only a minute?” James slurred.

Francis chuckled and wrung out the sponge. He began to gently clean James’s thighs. “Was it good, my love?”

James nodded as well as he could and exhaled long and slow. “It was heaven,” he said dreamily.

Francis hummed as he washed him down. “I’m glad.” He smiled lopsidedly at him. “You really are lovely like that, my dear. Not that you aren’t always lovely.” He chuckled. “Well… most of the time.”

He finished and ridded himself of the sponge. He clambered onto the bed next to James and tangled his legs with James’s. James sunk into Francis’s warm bodyweight and let his head fall limp against him. Too much effort keeping it up. Far too much.

Francis held him tight and close and sighed in a satisfied way. “Cuddling and then dinnertime,” he mumbled. “You can’t survive on tea alone.”

James snorted quietly. “I can try.”

Not long after, they were both asleep.


End file.
